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CSMP OSSIPEE. 



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BY RALPH H. SHAW. 



TO HIS COMPANION, O. W. R. 



LOWELL, MASS. 

PRESS OP C. F. HATCH & CO.. 

1888. 



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Copyright, 1888, by R. H. Shaw. 



CAMP OSSIPEE. 



'Twas in the mellow light that falls 
At sunset on the mountain-walls ; 
When far and near at times is heard 
The warble of the sunset bird, 
And in the hush that deepens round 
The very soul of peace is found ; 
Where far below us Melvin Baj' 
Couching itself for slumber lay, 
And over us some pine-boughs bent,— 
That, travel-worn, we pitched our tent. 
Ah ! 'twas a restful sight to see 
The wooded heights of Ossipee 
Rise round us in eternal green. 
That softer seemed at sunset seen ; 
For we had come that self-same day 
O'er glistening miles of iron way. 
And borne the dust of many a road 
That in the sun of August glowed. 
There in that peaceful hour of rest, 
Which rock and tree alike confessed. 



Cawp Ossipee. 



The pine-boughs seemed above our head 
In blessing and in healing spread, 
Making us feel— who felt indeed — 
That Nature understood our need. 

At length the moon rose, far and near 
We saw its tender light appear ; 
Now flaring from the mountain lines. 
Now falling through their fringing pines, 
And now expanding far and wide— 
A whelming yet a gentle tide. 
Then like a brooch of silver lay, 
In its dim setting, Melvin Bay, 
Seeming, in our ecstatic sight, 
Upon the very breast of Night. 
At length all things about us slept, 
Save that the owl his vigils kept. 
We felt the mightj^ forest breathe 
The light touch of the dew beneath, 
And minded that if we would rise 
What time the morning tints the skies, 
We should unto our couch repair. 
We turned our wandering steps to where 
Our tent looked like a mountain-mist, 
White-sheeted, bj' the moonlight kissed. 



Camp Ossipee. 



Next morning— when the sun had shone 
An hour or so our landscape on!— 
We saw, forth-looking from our tent, 
With feelings of some wonderment. 
To whom the splendid sunset hour 
Had something had of glamour power, 
How far our credulous eyes had been 
Deceived the shaping moonlight in. 
Still for the light that showed the fact, 
Our view to charm us nothing lacked. 
Too far away for us to see 
One sign of its activity, 
The little thorp below us lay 
Reposeful by its sunlit bay 
As if alike were night and day. 
We only saw its houses small 
And steeple overlooking all, 
And vanes that ever and anon 
Focused the light that on them shone. 

We broke our fast betimes, and took 
Our fishing-tackle to the brook, 
With good old Izaak Walton's book- 
Not that we thought our luck would be 
The better for its company, 



Camp Ossipee. 



Too obsolete in many ways 

To guide a fisher nowadays, 

But leading still to that calm mood 

Wherein to fish is meet and good. 

My friend— and no one more than he 

;Snjoys its quaint simplicity — 

Had read it often, looking down 

Upon a noisy thoroughfare, 

From his high window-seat in town, 

Yet always seeming otherwhere — 

Some mountain pool pine-shadowed by 

Or meadow brook with breast of sky — 

Receiving from it what is best 

Within its g^ft, relief and rest. 



Ah ! you shouldhave that wild brook traced 
With so much varied beauty graced ; 
So rugged yet so fair, so wild 
And yet so lovelj' — Nature's child. 
A child whose days are full of song, 
Whose feet disport its way along, 
Who unto all its spirit gives, 
And loved of all who see it, lives. 
And so at first it seemed to be 
A thing of life, to hear and see ; 



Camp Ossipee. 



To hear itself the song it sung, 
To see the woods it moved among, 
To have a subtler sense than we 
Of all that we could hear and see. 
But after all it was a brook, 
And into it we cast our hook. 



We fished from pool to pool, and thought 
Of what our honest master taught, — 
That much of hope and patience need 
All fishers if they would succeed. 
But, mark you ! not without reward 
We bore our fishing-line and rod, 
Who out of hope and patience caught 
More fish indeed than we had sought. 
Ah! even with us seemed to be 
That man of " heavenly memory," 
Who "with his Bryan and a book, 
Loitered long days near Shawford-b rook," 
In pleasant discourse, wherein we 
His singleness of heart could see, 
Inviting us to love the good, 
The meek and quiet habitude, 
To seek not more than competence, 
And thank God for his providence. 



Cavip Ossipee. 



Our fishing done, our sweet meal o'er, 
We sat beside our tent's free door. 
The hour was high noon, and we heard 
But sound of leaf and song of bird ; 
No clanging of a factory bell 
The stopping of the wheels to tell, 
No footsteps of a swarming throng 
A hard and dusty walk along. 
The farther mountains, v.^rapped in haze, 
Seemed sleeping through the August daj's, 
And couched in eastern luxury 
The lake's fair islands seemed to be. 
We watched, o'er land and wave below. 
The cloud-cast shadows come and go. 
Until the very landscape seemed 
Ivike something indistinctly dreamed. 
And lower as if farther heard 
Became the sound of leaf and bird ; 
For surel}' had a slvimberous power 
The stillness of that midday hour. 



When long the lights and shadows grew 
That slanted the cool forest through. 
And from us with the westering day 
Our lighter feelings passed away, 



Camp Ossipee. 



We sought, as did the hour become, 
The threshold of a lonely home, 
A house that sadly seemed to be 
Devoted to its memorj'. 
As 'twere in weeded widowhood. 
How dark amid its field it stood! 
Far up upon the mountain-side, 
O'erlooking lake and valley wide, 
Where hardl}' ever came a sound 
Save from the sombering pines around. 
Longer the lights and shadows grew, 
Cooler the airs as touched with dew. 
While sat we in that lonely door, 
Recalling what could be no more,— 
Tlie tender joys with childliood flown, 
The hopes by earliest manhood known, 
The long, wide way, with flowers fair, 
That ended in the path of care. 
There came to us the thought that we, 
As we had been, no more could be ; 
As nevermore on us could lie 
The sunlight of our morning sky, 
So nevermore our lives could feel 
Their early freedom, early weal. 



Cavip Ossipee. 



Much that that house knew, sad and lone, 
Was by our very bosoms known, 
And with a sigh of sympathy, 
We left it to its memory. 

Soon in the vale below we heard 
The singing of the sunset bird. 
That in the gathering dusk was glad— 
For him the hour no sadness had — 
And casting from our minds the weight 
Of thoughts we had indulged so late, 
We gained our tent, wherein we sate 
In quiet converse till the sound 
That reached us from the lapsing rills 
And from the waving woods around, 
lyulled us to sleep among the hills. 

And so we lived from day to day, 
"Exempt from public haunt" and way. 
In lightsome and in pensive thought. 
In varying moods by Nature wrought. 
Who learned that she her treasures gives 
To him who with her cioselj' lives, 
Who comes, a quiet worshipper. 
And dares to make his home with her. 



